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Don't Cry
Hey, come on now! Don't cry! Don't cry! I know things are bad for you right now, and all you want is for everything to just fade away, but you know that won't happen. That's not how the world works. You were always a crybaby, and I know it's your only real way to cope with things, but you have to stop. Do you remember when mom and dad asked you what you wanted for your birthday, more than anything in the world, when you were eight? And what did you want? A puppy. Your parents didn't think it was a good idea, so you cried and cried for almost a week. And on your birthday, what was their gift? A bicycle. So you cried and cried, until you heard some little barks, and then you saw her running from the kitchen. She was little, and yellow, and so happy to be around you. What did you call her? That's right! You called her Matilda. The next couple of months flew by so fast, didn't they? Mom and dad started to argue, but you didn't care. You had Matilda, and that was all that really mattered. But one morning, you woke up, and Matilda wasn't there, was she? So you told your parents, and they immediately went looking for her, asking for you to trust them. And you cried and you cried, until a few days later, they found her in a ditch. And you cried and cried, until well after a week after you buried her. And you never wanted another puppy again. Do you remember a couple years later, when daddy came to see you after the divorce, that he took you to see his new girlfriend? All the rage you felt, all the loneliness? All the deep feelings of losing something very important to you? Do you remember what you asked your mom what you should do? In her drunken candor, saying that death is the only time that loss counts as keeping someone or something, like Matilda? You spent your time in your room, crying your eyes out again. The next night, you were staying with your father, when his girlfriend tried to make nice, but she talked to your father like you were some kind of freak? "She won't open up to me", she said. "She won't trust me, and I wish she would." And you cried yourself to sleep that night. And the next morning, your father's scream coming from the bathroom, and you ran to him, and all the blood that was all over the bathroom floor? Her body in the tub, alcohol and pills everywhere, her slit wrist limply hanging over the side? The shock must have been too much, because you didn't cry after that. In fact, even at the funeral you didn't cry. You seemed... at ease about it. One could say that you were even happy about her death. To be honest, it was quite a while before you cried again. High school, I believe. Do you remember him? Johnny Whitmueller. He was such a nice kid. Football player, handsome, hard working, had bought his own car by the age of 16. He was such a catch. You'd say you were the opposite. Shy, so reserved about everything, no friends to speak of. So alone. But out of the blue, he asked you to Prom, and everyone was so shocked. Here he was, the Big Man on Campus, and he wanted to go with some nobody wallflower, instead of the Captain of the Cheerleaders. Word spread quickly. Then the rumors moved faster, didn't they? Slut. Pity case. Skank. Wannabe welfare queen. Trailer trash. Cat lady. That one was the most preposterous. You don't really like animals, now do you? All these mean, hateful little words, used to kill you from the inside out. You didn't outwardly cry, but everyone could see you wanted to. So they got worse, eventually moving to slapping you, abusing you, holding you down and cutting your hair, forcing you to wear gaudy makeup. And the teachers? They never lifted a finger. They really didn't care, considering most of the kids doing it to you were theirs. So you put up with it. But Prom is where everything went to Hell for you, didn't it? You were so pretty. You actually spent time taking care of yourself, and you paid attention to what was fashionable. And your nice, white dress, it looked like a wedding dress. Anyone could see that you would have been the most beautiful bride in the world. And Johnny was so handsome in his suit, perfectly tailored and looking like a model. The red corsage he placed on your white glove was so nice, the perfect splash of color. He really was your Prince Charming, wasn't he? The event itself wasn't that spectacular, but you didn't care. Johnny was there, and he did everything correct, and he said all the right things. You hadn't even noticed they were getting ready for the coronation of the Prom Queen and King until one of the Cheerleaders reminded everybody of the nominees. You were shocked when you were announced as one of the candidates. And when it came to the announcement of who the queen was, you were evening more surprised that you had won. Everybody cheered for you when you walked onto the stage, tears streaming down your face, your delicate makeup running slightly. But that happiness was short lived. One of the cheerleaders announced that they had a special video, and pulled a screen down, and a projection start playing. A video of some nameless cheerleader and Johnny, having sex. She egged him on, asking him why he was taking you to Prom. Your tears wouldn't stop when he said he didn't care about you, how he was only using you. You were there for his amusement, and then you would be thrown away. He tried to tell you otherwise, but you ran away. You ran and you ran, falling down and messing up your dress. You broke the heels of your shoes, but you just threw them away and continued running home. Mom tried to ask you what happened, but you ran to your room, locked the door, and cried and cried for days afterward. There were even days when you woke up, cried, and then went back to bed, that's how much it hurt. Do you remember what I said then? I said I'd make the pain, and all the things associated with it go away. You just had to trust me. Do you remember how Johnny died? How, drunken and with some girl all over him, he rolled his car into a ravine and killed the both of them? That's not necessarily my fault, but the alcohol was. Do you remember your daddy's girlfriend? Well, not the alcohol and pills, but the wrists were mine. As for Matilda, I felt I would lose you if you learned about responsibility. I couldn't have that. Just like I can't have you crying right now. Shhhh, shh. Don't cry, alright? Just let the feeling wash over you. Just relax. It's just something in your milk I put in for you. So please, don't cry, okay? You know I don't want to see you cry. Just like I don't want to lose you. Mommy doesn't want to lose her precious, delicate little girl. Category:Mental Illness